Hillen Prison Blues – I Feel the Fluids Rushing

I feel the fluids rushing

Up and down

And back

Up and down

My back

Spine

Light headed

Heavy hearted

Ears fuzzy disoriented

Vertigo

Bones crack every time

I move

Elbows

Knees

Hands

Feet

Fingers

Toes

FACE

My facial affliction

Nerves explode

Fireworks of the nerves

Side of my face

I seek relief

Scream in agonizing

Torture and terror

I chose

Sleep to

Escape

Forget

Awake

Remember

Impairment

Then depression

Sleep

Forget

I want to forget

I don’t want to sleep

I want to sleep

I love my sleep

But not much

My dreams are pleasant

And my reality is a

Nightmare

But

I’d rather have the bad dreams and the good life

“Sleep. Those little slices of Death. How I loathe them.” Edgar Allen Poe said.

 

“Sleep. Those little slices of pleasure. How I adore them.” Rich Hillen Jr said

I Woke Up with a Boner

I woke up with a boner (Written a couple months or so after my heart surgery in September 2011)

I woke up with a boner

This morning.

It was my first boner since

I was admitted to the hospital

Almost 2 months ago.

Since sex wasn’t on my mind,

I just wanted it to go away

So I could pee.

I peed and it went down.

I forgot about it until now.

My entire life I’ve been

Infected with sexual thoughts

And desires.

Occasionally going away as I

Grow older.

Older.

It seemed to have gone away

Entirely

After my hospital stay.

I noticed my lack of desire

But didn’t care.

Still don’t

Care.

I’d rather write

Or draw anyway.

Conversations with Scar Tissue Past

Scar tissue expands every day on my wounded mind.

Sometimes I feel nothing. Denial? Remission?

Sometimes I feel everything. Projection? Frustration? Anxiety?

Scar tissues spreads and strengthens me and weakens me.

Sometimes my past will pop up and surprise me.

“Hey how ya doin?”

“Great. How are you?” *Stutter and shake*

Chocolate shake. Fuck you. I want vanilla. I always want vanilla.

“Livin the dream” *Shimmy, shimmy shakes*

Shimmy my ass. You’re dream must be simple. You must be simple. Fuck your shimmy, shimmy and your Goddamn shake.

“Oh. That’s great I guess.”  *Reelin and rockin*

Ahh.. that’s better. Reeling and rockin… Not living or dying just kind of rockin.

“Yeah man. I am so filled with gratitude for my wonderful life.” *proud statement loosing confidence*

“Yeah? Me too. What are you so grateful about?” *Twisting and shouting*

“I woke up today. The sun is shining. I have love. I have friends.” *it goes on and on and on and . . .yeah*

Doubt and reconsideration of this fool standing before me. Too evasive. Too general. Hides the scars and pain and the past. Denies it.

“Are you grateful you took a shit?’ *sarcastic laughter held in*

“Wha. . ?” *confused by ninja verbal dance moves*

“Are you grateful you found a dollar to buy some food?” *humility or self righteousness (can’t tell)*

The past faded away as I questioned and hustled and even disco ducked..

Hope or hopeless. Doesn’t matter if I remain in motion. Mental motion. . .Keep going and no matter the scars or the past or the pain, the spirit is well. Always is if I tap into it. Do the twist. Shake it out baby. Shake, rattle and roll.

You know how it is, Rockin and rollin and what not.

You cna live your dream. I’m living my life. It’s worth every scar.

Existing in Pain – Daily Rant 2 Days Late

Note: I wrote this on Friday but haven’t had the chance to post it. I’ll give you an update at the end.

Woke up way too early. Trouble breathing. Asthma? Then the stomach turned and I had to go. To the bathroom. Funny. I have no bath but I call it the bathroom. I went. Felt a little better.

Face hurt. A little at first. It always starts with a little. It got worse.

Trouble breathing. I was smoking. Maybe I smoke too much. Then the racing thoughts and the heart followed. I made coffee. Good for asthma. I heard. I heard a lot of things so I drank coffee and a lot of water with my 4 morning meds. The stomach and heart beating anxiety kicked in as I tried to watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

I had to be somewhere to help a friend with a ride this morning. The meds were kicking in. I started to feel a little better as I got dressed and mapped the address of my friend. The breathing was like hyper ventilating. It came and went. It went when the pills kicked in. Pills. Have to take ‘em if I don’t want pain or anxiety. I did.

I got a text just as I was psyching myself up for a long ride. It was my friend’s boyfriend canceling the ride I was to give. The long trip. Over. Now I can stay home and try and relax. Or feel pain and anxiety.

It goes away eventually. Drugs kick in. Feel better. Wear off. Feel worse.

Need a nap. No nap. I guess the stress is up there. Anxiety.

Watched a couple of movies. Did a few tings on the internet. Hurt. Can’t breathe.

All over the place. God. Bad. Breathe freely. Breathe naturally. Breathe short and slow. Loss of breath. Chest pain. Face pain. It’s all running together.

I look up the symptoms and talk to friends that have similar conditions. They confirm that it’s just a panic attack. Combined with my face pain. It hurts.

Don’t want to complain. Complain. Complaints. Revealing my pain to you and everyone else is  . . .  like getting a mew therapist.

Just repeating my day out loud. No answers. Just venting.

Conclusions come after solutions after diagnosis. Am I sure it’s not just  another panic attack in a way I haven’t experienced.

Experienced. Weird pain. Something different.

Do I need a hospital or not?  Go to bed and sleep. Get up early tomorrow to do some work for my uncle.

Good. I’m falling asleep as I write this.

Note: Aftermath- I was hoping that a good night sleep would be the cure. It wasn’t. I woke up at 6:30 am with the deep breaths and panic for no reason. I was tired but that was normal. I drank less coffee and took my morning meds, More face pain. I took pain pills. Everything kicked in by the time I got to help my Uncle at cleaning offices. I was just tired from all of the pain and anxiety the day before. I made it through the work hours. Then I had to go home shower etc and pick up a model for a photography project. It was an all day event but now and then I felt the anxiety and shortness of breath but had to keep going and took anxiety meds. I got through the day and went to sleep early. Woke up today feeling a little bit of the breath thing and anxiety and it slowly went away and I helped my Uncle again and now I just feel emotionally hungover. Tired blah. I made it.

Epiphany Shmiphany

 

I’ve been waiting to sit down and write about an “epiphany” I had a little over a week ago. Epiphany. For such a soft word that is almost pretty as it rolls through my mouth it is a powerful word. I’ve had these changes in attitude and  realizations ( a harsher sounding word that’s way less powerful). I was basically going to tell you about the “epiphany” that I have told you about and have experiences over and over. I guess I should mention it briefly then move on, huh?

 

I was watching a documentary about Hubert Selby Jr, author of classic novels like Last Exit to Brooklyn and Requiem for a Dream that were made into fantastic movies, about a week and a half ago. Learning about the struggles of the life of an artist is just rehashing what I already knew. An artist is born that way. Born to struggle through life so he can create art. That is his purpose and contribution to life. In a world of money oriented and materialistic people, we the artists, are giving instead of taking. As soon as we share our creations with at least one other person our art is art.

 

Ok, I’m not going to go on on and on about my purpose in life and your role in it. Basically I was just reminded of what I need to remember and keep forgetting. The struggle is the burden and consistency and I have to comment, react and create from it then give t away.

 

“I am an American artist I have no shame.” Patti Smith

 

The past few weeks have been terrifying, incredible, amusing, and on and off weird.

 

I’ll start with right now. At this moment I am sitting inside a coffee shop in Collingswood, NJ. I just finished talking to a friend I’ve hung out with only a few times but when we see each other there is this bond we have and we end up in deep conversations about art, music, addiction and sometimes the meaning of life itself. Ha. He’s in a similar situation as me and we always get along.

 

I went to the welfare office at 7 am this morning and spent over 2 hours trying to get some kind of assistance. I followed it up with a visit to unemployment to waste another hour or 2. It wasn’t a complete waste. My unemployment is back on. I just had to fight for the weeks they held back. This is fantastic news after waiting almost a month without the money and bills are adding up.

 

When you’re broke. Really broke. You start thinking about every coffee, donut, dinner out, pizza delivered, soda, etc and you over analyze what you wasted money in the past while still spending the same money on the same things. Oh yeah, the air conditioning is killing my roommate and me. Both he and my landlord suggested I turn it off and leave the house each day and hang at a coffee shop or somewhere with internet connections. These days that’s pretty much every coffee shop and eve restaurants and bars.

 

I went home after the unemployment office. It was about noon. 5 hours spent on trying to get help and it was semi successful. I still had the entire day ahead of me. I still do. I rubbed one off watching Judge Pierno or whatever her name is to relax. Not long after I got a phone call from the lady I spoke with at the unemployment office to tell me that all of the past money owed to me will come through. I was more floored by the fact that the woman called me back as soon as she found out than I was about the money. That was just really nice. I was ready to get out again and head to the pharmacy and then relax at the coffee shop. I am relaxed despite the caffeine.

 

I just ran into a girl I knew from a group I used to attend. Young, beautiful and great body and she is a fellow writer. A talented writer. I had such a crush on her a while back. I had so many fantasies about her in the past few years. I haven’t seen her since this past winter when I fist grew my beard and hair long and she called me a Wooly Mammoth and I was embarrassed and I was already anxious borderline agoraphobic. Weird. It was just a cute little name-calling and borderline flirtation that helped speed up my already progressing reclusiveness.

 

Irony. Now that I am leaving the house I run into the girl that I not only had a crush on but made me not want to go out anymore. I have to admit when I first laid eyes on her I got a little anxious and I pretended not to see her. I wanted to hide and jump up and call her name. I didn’t. I went back to writing what you just read. What I just wrote. I felt comfortable when she approached me on her way out. She was actually working, looking for a story to cover for one of the publications she writes for.

 

We talked a little bit about writing and how good it was to see each other then she left and here I am. This is the message of my writing today. Random events that mean nothing and mean everything to me.

 

When I got here I randomly started talking to a guy I never met before about misery versus happiness. I happen to be learning and relearning that life is a struggle and it’s what you put into it. This is before I met the others here today.

 

Last week I went to Philly to sell my cds to a shop where I’ve known the owner for a while. We had a great talk and he gave me a great price and I left a happy man. I wandered to a coffee shop I’d never been to greeted by 3  barista angels that worked the registers and coffee machines. People talked to me and greeted me like I was someone. I grabbed my drink and tipped then sat right outside so I could smoke. Huh… I haven’t had a cigarette yet since I entered the coffee shop. Usually I jump right out side and smoke. If I did that I wouldn’t have run into my friends. Shit. Now I want a cigarette. . .  .

 

*Dramatic pause for Rich Hillen Jr’s cigarette break*

 

Great smoke break. I’m texting my friend maybe girlfriend that lives in New Orleans all about my day. She’s another story. We’ve been talking about moving in for a while but we can’t afford it yet. A long drive and she has a pooch.

 

Just 3 weeks ago (maybe 2 and a half weeks) I was so desperate and stressed about my financial condition and it’s slowly pulling itself together.

 

Once I had my “epiphany”, I felt better over all and knew things will work out if I make the effort and try not to feel or come off desperate. I was ready.

 

My roommate told me about a music shop in Collingswood that would probably give me a good deal on my amp I’ve wanted to sell. I headed out one night to sell the amp and I ran out of gas within 4 blocks from the store. I laughed. My gas gage isn’t always working right and it says that there is less gas than is in there. I was on empty and was planning to get gas after I sold the amp.

 

This teenager appeared out of nowhere and started pushing my car. We couldn’t budge it for some reason. I was a foot from the corner street wedged on the curb. I called my close friend that lived in Collingswood and he was on the road going to a show and couldn’t help. I was pretty far from a gas station. I racked my brain finding someone in the area that could and would help me out.

 

I called my filmmaker friend who I’ve worked with on a few projects and he came through for me. I was still in a decent mood. I was also lucky enough to have had a gas container. So my friend picked me up, took me to the gas station and back to my car. It worked out because he wanted to talk to me about his upcoming projects. Just as we pulled up near my abandoned giant red beat-up 1994 Lincoln Towncar there was a Mini-Cooper in front of it and my cell phone rang with an unrecognized number. I just said to my friend that it looks like my mom’s friend’s car and it was my mom on his cell phone. I laughed again. My mom and her friend were parked there checking to see if I was ok. I was. They left. It was starting to get windy and a storm was on the way. I gassed the car up, thanked my friend and drove off to get gas.

 

I debated going to the music shop because of the gas problem and the storm brewing. I went anyway. It was a great decision. There were 2 women sitting in there with a guy that worked there. I jumped right to business and didn’t even check out the ladies. I wanted money. I knew exactly how much I wanted for it and the guy looked at and tested it. He left to get the owner to look at it and appraise it. While he was gone I looked at one of the now noticeably pretty women and she said “Hi Rich.” I knew those eyes of hers. It’s been over 20 years but you don’t forget her eyes. I said hi and I was a little uncomfortable yet happy. Memories rushed through my head of all of the nights I hung out with her, her friend and my weirdo friend. Many drinks and many other things. I tripped on acid with this girl at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. She was at my college graduation party. One night we got really stoned and went back to her place to look at her art (she was an incredible artist). We had a most memorable passionate night that we agreed not to tell anyone about. I wonder if it made it special because it was a one-time deal. It doesn’t matter. Here she was face to face 20 years later and looked the same.

 

I knew she lived in the area for years and heard about her musician boyfriend/fiancé through a friend of mine. I did run into her once 10-12 years ago and it was a brief conversation because we both had somewhere to go. So you can probably guess who owned the music shop I was standing in hoping to make a buck from. It was the infamous boyfriend/fiancé or whatever. Then I talked to him about the people we had in common. We talked after he paid me righteously for the amp of course. I left feeling good.

 

Then came the storm as I was leaving. A physical storm followed that Sunday afternoon after “helping” out my uncle who is really my great aunt’s live in boyfriend clean offices. I pulled muscles in my arms and shoulders. This triggered my infamous Trigeminal Disorder. The pain was at its’ worst since I was first diagnosed with it in 2005. I was running out of pain meds and I couldn’t refill them for a week. I took migraine aspirin and sleep aids. I spent most of the next 3 days away to escape the explosions in my face. I was in extreme pain for 3 days then the recovery took a day or 2. I was finally back in the world and that’s when I sold my cds and hung out in Philly.

 

This past Saturday I did my usual “helping” out my uncle whose not my uncle. Afterward, I met up with my adopted mother, the one that raised me, to have lunch in honor of my adopted father whose 2^nd year death anniversary that also fell on Father’s Day. We were supposed to meet up the next day but she changed her mind and we had a great dinner and conversation.

 

On my way out I ran into another friend I’ve known for years sitting on a bench and I voluntarily joined him. This is a big step for me to be social and I hung out with him for an hour in the hot sun drinking an iced coffee from Starbucks. I was in a good mood. I headed home and watched some movies and did a little writing.

 

Sunday was Father’s day and my adopted father’s death anniversary. It was an awkward day. Having 2 dads can be difficult. My focus was on the dead one who raised me and not my biological father who came back in my life as an adult and has been there for my for over 20 years now. I called him and text him. We decided we will celebrate when I can afford it. It ended nicely.

 

Shit. This was a random bit of writing that went on forever. If you’re still reading, God bless you and thank you for sharing my life as it’s still spinning in and out of Epiphanies, pain, poverty, good memories and hopes of tomorrow, meanwhile, living in the moment no mater how good or bad it gets.

 

Ride on.

 

Right on.

 

Write on.

 

 

A Pleasure Filled Reunion – A Poem

I wrote this a few years ago.

Pleasure filled reunion, reminiscing and regurgitating our past recreation. God and mankind mock our modern misguided motives. We’ve barely nursed our own wounds and we’re already trying to nurse each other’s.

“Come with me my love. To the sea. The Sea of Love” Phil Phillips sang in 1959.

“Love Stinks” J. Geils sang in 1980.

“Love sinks” I say right now.

We hold hands as we once again walk carelessly across the landmine of love knowing that the bullets we are dodging are secretly nicking the future.

You squirm in my arms as I deliberately let you go to see if you come back. You run as far as you can until I appear out of nowhere and we start the game all over again.

We share a cigarette and watch the sunset on TV.

“Change the channel fast before we get too close” you think to yourself out loud.

“Please settle for my low-brow passions instead.” I think back.

Communication has always been our worst way of dealing. Or is it the best way? Not too sure anymore.

My head shrieks and my heart whines. You are the best of times and the worst of times. I have only one choice and that’s to take my time.

NINJA HANDJOB: A POEM

Carry me through another day of this.

This. This brain damaged daily living.

This Mustard seed growth on my thigh,

This Malibu Marionette that I keep hidden in my front pocket so no one knows what I’m worth.

Worthless and priceless. Six figures. No figures. It figures.

Carry my through another self absorbed lonely pounding.

Pounding my ears.

Pounding my head,

Pounding my body starting with the morning wood.

Ending with the mourning would.

I am a tree.

I am a flower.

I am your lover that never loved you and I know you feel the same way.

You left. I left.

The candy store stopped carrying my favorite spiritual flavors of goodness.

Sometimes the pain is real.

Sometimes the pain is imagined.

Sometimes the pain is like a Ninja Handjob giving me the deadliest release of mind and soul through the pain.

Carry me through the bumpy ride on your handlebars.

I bounce and feel the pain with every pothole and speed bump along my “happy” road of destiny.

Since you never left.

Since you never wanted me to begin with.

Since you sent me sailing onto and into bigger and smaller worlds of the unreal and made me confront the real I’ve longed for nothing less.

Nothing less than a sweet painless ride on your shoulders.

Platonic shavings fall endlessly down my back as you take me away and leave me there.

There.

Over there.

Right here.

This brings me back to now. Another day of this.

This.

This daily brain damaged living.

This luxury of life ignored by my self pity and selfish motives. Selfish motif’s.

You appear to me again but this time only in my thoughts.

I see you for what you are.

You are just like me.

A daily struggling person trying to find your way.

No one is going ot find it for us.

Last Day by Cam MacDonald

I’m a little too sick or anxious to write today so I am posting a poem from my friend Cam MacDonald. It’s about . . .you figure it out.

Last Day?

What will happen tomorrow
Will it be tomorrow or some other day
After waiting 159 days it doesn’t feel real
Caught up in a Sweep
profiled for being the best
punished for 14 year old sins
Here I await fiending like a junkie
scanning the headlights for the Man
keys jingle and doors slam

So many days morphed into right now
So much pain and boredom
distilled into to each into each moment
The small hope of small freedom
is all that feeds me
My cell is real in its filthy haphazardness
and in its protection from the outside

Its more real than but no less restricting
than all the other imposed by me
and those I let imposed on me
the Clinic with its liquid handcuffs
the junk with its sickness and never ending hunger
the promise of riches tomorrow but never today
the women who I won’t let love me
the son who I love and loves me
the darkside who always wins
the people I hate for being human
but most of all myself for being so selfish

So right so wrong but always doomed
Soon some shitbag will crack my cell
and tell me to pack it up
and then the real sentence starts
but will the small hope
still lingering in the smell of spring earth
and a girls perfume and…….

Art by Rich Hillen Jr 2000

Frustrated – digital art

Exterminate – A Poem

I wrote this one in late 2008 after a break up with a woman. A woman. It’s always about a woman. Ha.

Exterminate

I need an exterminator to kill the bugs she left in my head, my heart. Some bug powder to kill the pain inside that won’t stop no matter how much I want it to stop. Stop. My head hangs heavy on my lap and I try to hump it to bring some life back into it and it doesn’t respond until it’s time to smoke or eat. My face is even redder than usual like a ripe tomato that I refuse to eat because I hate tomatoes and I hate her. I’m filled with so much anger that my stomach feels nauseous and I want to puke right here on my knees and kick myself in my yellow teeth wishing it was her kicking me or me kicking her for how desperate I feel as her face rolls around in my head over and over like a really bad fight scene from American Gladiators and I’ve never watched American Gladiators yet it stops for a moment and I feel slight nostalgia of what I thought we had but I now realize was never there. I’ve been played for a fool. A Jackass. A lunatic. A ninny. A nit wit. A Joker. “I’m the JOLLY JOKER!” I laugh. Then I cry because this as funny as a bowl of half eaten dead children’s intestines. My heart is broken and I hurt and all you want to do is to not feel your guilt and all I want to do is to hold you in my arms one more time and beg and plead with you to take me back and start the same sadistic pattern all over again because I’d rather deal with the pain later just so I can get more pleasure today. If that ain’t true love then I don’t know what is.

A drawing I did in 2001 or so of the great writer William S. Burroughs.